Me 'n My Laptop

Tuesday Topic - What Comes Around Goes Around

Let's Talk

What was said on Oprah today, confirmed my deep belief that I gathered during my recovery process - Oprah's show said it better than I ever could. 

If you don't deal with the past, the past stays in your present and re-enacts itself in your behavior, your relationships, and/or in your child/children.  You will do this unconsciously, and then your child will pass on the dysfunction caused by your dysfunction ... along with your original dysfunction.  Maybe you deal with your past pain by being addicted to painkillers.  Your child may grow up determined not to by like you, but lo and behold ... she's addicted to shopping or people-pleasing. 

Also, we seek out partners who display the same characteristics of the past dysfunction because that is the most comfortable.  Again, we do this unconsciously.  We unconsciously seek the partners most unhealthy for us in order to heal our lives in some sick, twisted unconscious sort of way. 

I've given this example many times as a result of personal experience.  Several women in my various support groups would lament "why oh why is my 13, 14, 15 year old daughter pregnant?"  They would wonder this, even tho they were there to work out issues such as giving up a baby to adoption (and keeping it a secret).  Or dealing with having an abortion (and keeping it a secret).  Or finding out their mother had given up a sibling for adoption (thereby living with a secret). 

I've often thought that the expression "What goes around, comes around" is expressed far too lightly.  It's often said when somebody deserves to be punished somehow.  The most recent example I can think of is about the guy in Austria who held his daughter in a basement hideaway for 24 years, raping her and producing 7 children with her.  I read a comment board where someone said "What goes around comes around", and that he should be put in prison, where the other prisoners will bestow oh him what he did to his daughter for 24 years. 

Because we repeat our pasts unconsciously, of course "what goes around, comes around". 

When we fall in love, the first flush of love and romance pretty much serve as an anesthesia - everythingis perfect, he's perfect, we love each other so!  Even if the red flags are there, you're too busy looking at him Thur rose-colored eye glasses.  The chemicals of falling in love minimize the red flags.  When the problems start to crop up and can no longer be denied, there's two options; to break up, or heal it.  If you choose to break up, the same scenario will happen with the next partner.  It is not until you choose to heal the past, with or without a partner, that you'll begin to have a happy life. 

Those are the words I've repeated to clients back in the day when I facilitated support groups. 

On Oprah today and on her website: 

"[Imago] (a therapy technique) helps couples understand how the problems they have in a relationship in the present are connected to issues that are left over from childhood," he says. "Most of the stuff that's going on in a relationship has its roots in the past—we say about 90 percent in the past, and it's triggered by about 10 percent of the behaviors in the present."

"Subconsciously, that person is also attracted to their partner's negative traits that are connected to the unfulfilled needs of childhood".

"When you start acting out in adulthood with hurtful behavior, you're actually acting out of that pain. If you release the pain, then you remove the power [that pain holds]."

"It's not a coincidence you're attracted to your partner. "You lost [happiness during childhood] and you'll never feel fully alive again until you get it back. We think that committed partnership or marriage is the context within which those issues can be restored."

Contrary to our culture's model, Dr. Hendrix says intimate relationships are not really about romance. "It's an amazing thing that you're drawn together, in the romantic phase, to somebody who's similar to the worst traits of all the negative traits combined of all your caretakers," he says. "A romantic phase is an anesthesia. It's like nature is keeping you from knowing what it's about to set you up to do, which is to heal each other's childhood wounds."

Dr. Oz says Dr. Hendrix's theory has medical backing. When you are first in love, he says your body releases natural chemicals like dopamine, which is related to addiction, and oxytocin. "That makes you feel love and warm and cuddly," Dr. Oz says.

*****

Yup.  That's just what I said.  Only I said it about 15 years ago. 

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Is it any wonder why I get so frustrated?

This week's goal was to do some blogging housework.  I was going to get all my widgets working, join the networking sites so that I could spread my blog love around, and set up a blogging schedule of various topics so that when I'm braindead, I could fall back on my topics.  One of which is a new feature called "Tuesday Teeth".  Doesn't that sound intriging?  You damn betcha.  But this is what happened that caused me to running screaming from the room, with my hands tearing out the hair from the top of my head.

1.  My Twitter won't work, so I went to fix it.  It won't update.  Tried and tried.  Tried to contact help.  Their help page won't load.  Made a new account, just to see.  The new one won't work either.  Checked my cookies.  They are enabled, which I'm assuming is necessary. 

2.  Then the Internet went down. 

3.  Then it came back. 

4.  Went to take a picture for Tuesday's blogging assignment, and the batteries were dead. 

5.  Wondered whether I dare tried something else.  Checked my email.  Internet down again. 

6.  Turned on the TV.  Remote wouldn't work. 

7.  Decided to get sewing on a new quilt.  Set up sewing machine.  Got the material and laid out design pattern.  Turned on sewing machine.  Didn't work.  Can't fine the electrical cord that goes with it. 

I give up. 

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That cat

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Talledega

Oh yes, I had a good time.  I should have mentioned that no matter how angry I might be with SFM ... he'll say something so outrageous and it's usually pretty raunchy ... I cannot help laughing my fool head off.  And that gets us talking like humans again.  I tried to make this little spat last longer than usual tho - when normally I'd just go with his flow. 

... hmmm.  "Go with his flow" ... boy if that's not a perfect segway for a PMS or Aunt Flo comment.  Unfortunately, I can't come up with a thing. 

But I have a good excuse ... the Nascar race is on.  Talledega is my number 2 favorite track. 

Lordy.  Lap 18 or so?  Major crash avoided - two drivers could have caused the "Big One", as Talledega is famous for.  But they managed to save it, and it was amazing to watch.  '

I gotta post this - Jeff is 2nd right now, and he needs my full attention.

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I'm back. In more ways than one...

Woo hoo!  I'm back.  Back from Reno, and back from TypePad No Man's Land.  They reactivated the blog, kindly resetting my account to come due the first week of May.  Yeaaa TypePad! 

Naturally, while I was locked out of the blog, I had dozens of blog posts in my mind.  Now?  Not so much. 

Had a good time in Reno, as always.  Altho, I was a bit snippy, wondering why some things that I normally ignore ... infuriated me instead.  SFM has a bad habit of asking questions out loud, and completely ignoring me when and if I answer the question.

Him:  How do we get to the car? 

Me:  We go to the front desk, turn left to the elevator and go up to floor 7 to the garage. 

Him:  No, I mean from here.  (We had gone out a door and were out on the street)  (We had been using valet services the previous 2 days) (But we had decided to park it ourselves on the top floor of the parking garage just for kicks and giggles)  (For some reason.)

Me:  I don't know.  I just know how to get there from inside the casino.

Him:  How is that garage even connected to the casino?  Blah blah blah.

Me:  Grrrrr.  I don't know, you're expecting me to know the architectural design of the damn building.  I KNOW HOW TO FIND THE CAR FROM INSIDE THE CASINO. 

He:  (Walks on down the street around the corner)

Me:  (Left fuming with the luggage) 

Me:  (Still fuming with the luggage)

Me:  (Consider leaving his luggage and taking mine to the front desk, turn left and taking the elevator to the 7th floor of the parking garage)

Me:  (Seriously consider it)

Me:  (Decide I shouldn't stoop to such childish behavior)

He:  (Pulls up in our red rental car, and gets out all happy and triumphant)

He:  I tol...

Me:  Don't EVEN talk to me right now.  I'm furious and talking would not be a good thing.  For you.)

He:  But I tol ...

Me:  SHUT UP.  (Altho it came out more like F*** Y** )  Oops.

That is the end of that story.  I won't even get into what he's like when we're driving and trying to find out where to go when we want to go somewhere.  We both really enjoy just driving around and getting our bearings and seeing what we can see.  But if there's a specific goal in mind?  It's best I just keep my mouth shut, even tho I have the better sense of direction. 

Oh, yes I do.  SHUT UP. 

When I got home, it was discovered that I had been under the influence of PMS. 

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I hereby commit to personnally lighten the load on my plane

I'm leaving for Reno this Sunday morning for a sexfest love-fest with SanFranMan.  We'll eat, sleep late, gamble .25 cents here and there, and give each other massages with the hot oil I will provide, while listening to ... Merle Haggard. 

Yep.  That's what I said.  Good ole Merle.  He likes Merle Haggard, and ever obliging sweetie-pie that I am - I mixed him a CD with some of Merle's finest country tunes.  Lordy.  Romantic - NOT. 

I am DETERMINED to gain a handle on my over-packing tendencies.  It's only for 3 days.  Well, five days if you count the travel days.  Wait.  Four days.  At home I wear jeans for 2 days at a time before I send them to the laundry.  What makes me think I need a morning pair and a daytime pair of jeans?  And let's not forget the evening pair of dress pants in case we decide to leave our room for dinner.  Here's where it gets ridiculous.  Not only will I pack dress pants but I pack a pair of dress pants for each day ... even tho I may not have worn the dress pants I packed for the day before.  Does that make sense?  Four days = 4 jeans, and 4 dress pants.   

???

The point is ... even tho I provide myself with 3 separate outfits for each day away ... I NEVER wear said outfits!  I put on a pair of pants, and lo and behold - the same outfit is worn all day long - even dinner.  I might change into a clean shirt for dinner, but that's rare. 

So this is what I'm saying.  From henceforth now, I pledge to pack one pair of pants for each day, and ONE pair of dress pants. 

In the past pack-list:  3 daytime pants, 3 dress pants, 6 or 9 or 12 shirts.  Various shoes to match.  2-3 skirts or dresses, 3 pairs of shorts.  Various underpinnings.  3 sexy nighties, 3 comfortable nightgowns, 2-3 pairs of lounge pajamas.  Oh, and a sweatshirt for each day too. 

In the future pack-list:  3 daytime pants, 1 dress pants, 6 shirts, 1 dress or skirt.  3 pairs of shoes.  Sandals, water shoes, and flip-flops. 

The color theme is denim, black and white.  So much easier when everything goes with everything else. 

Scuse the sloppy photo-shopping.  I took out the clashing background in a hurry.   

Actually, I should switch out a pair of jeans for a pair of white pants, and add a couple of white t-shirts.  SFM bought me the reversible jacket - isn't it cute?  LOVE it. 

I'm done packing! 

I guess the only color will be at nighttime ...   

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Oh, the reason why I have to pack so light is because I have to fit in room for the bag I left at SFM's place the last time I was there, because the airline wouldn't let me take 2 carry-ons that day.  So SFM took it home with me, and I'm hoping that's where my lime-green bra is. 

And a CD player.  We want to listen to Merle Haggard  music in our room.  Now how am I going to pack that???

I will try to post while gone, but no guarentee - the wireless is somewhat iffy in some rooms.  But when I come back on Wednesday, there will be some big changes in the blog - beginning the following Monday. 

That is all.

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We were stalked by an owl. Or the post that sucked Gosling in.

First I have to set the scene. In my effort to feel productive, I've been getting up by 8am for the last 3 mornings. This hasn't proven difficult at all, but about 5:30pm, but today I needed a nap. I set the alarm for 6pm, just wanting a tiny, short nap - a power nap.

Next thing I know, it's 10:00. I thought it meant 10am in the morning. I lay there for several minutes, disgusted with myself, telling myself I failed at my new plan to reform after just 3 days. Imagine my horror when I got up and it was DARK. Instead of thinking I'd overslept that nite and into the next morning, I thought I'd overslept that nite, into the next morning and into the NEXT night again!!

So to say I was disoriented is an understatement. If I said I was disoriented ALOT, it would still be an understatement.

The next horrified thought was the dogs hadn't been outside for... I had to pause my panicked disorientation to do the math... from 5:30pm yesterday to 10pm "today".... 28 hours!! Does anyone know how difficult math is when one is mathimatically challenged and had the grades to prove it, AND disoriented from taking a 28 hour long nap.  AND with MS???  I swear MS took any ability I had with using all versions of thinking with numbers.  Clocks included. 

The next problem was deciding what to wear when one is just GETTING UP at 10pm after a 28 hour nap. Regular daytime clothes or pajamas? While believing one's dogs haven't peed in 28 hours, which puts an element of HURRY into it?

Finally, I got outside with the dogs. Who oddly seemed more interested in the refrigerator than going outside after 28 hours of not peeing, which should have been my first clue. But I figured they must be disoriented too - they thought it was time for dinner. Which only makes sense, since supposedly they'd missed last nite's dinner and tonite's dinner was late. But still. One would think after not peeing for 28 hours, peeing would be priority. I certainly skipped my own need to pee, in my efforts to get them peed.  I'm sure I've mentioned MS giving me pee problems.  Peeing them first is how much I love my dogs.  The sacrifices I make. 

As I walked out to the field behind the apartment, wondering how in the hell I slept thru 3, yes THREE piercing cell phone alarms... one for waking up from the nap at 6pm, the wake-up alarm at 8am, AND the 3pm Physical Therapy alarm... I felt a WHOOOSH over my head. The kind of whooosh you can both hear and feel from the air rushing by. Muttin ran to my side, whining. Since I was still in Disoriented Hell, I didn't pay attention. As I continued to walk down the field, trying to justify a 28 hour nap, and wondering if I should report such a nap to someone medical, since I blame MS for everything wrong in my life - Muttin continued to whine. Eventually I saw something out of the corner of my eye, above us, flying to the top of a telephone pole. The moon was bright, and with it reflecting off the snow, it was bright enough to see that it was a HUMONGOUS owl.

From the time of the first whooosh to the time of seeing the owl was the length of 3 telephone poles. I kept walking, watching both Muttin and the owl. That owl flew ahead to the next telephone pole. I stopped dead in my tracks, and called Jeffrey to me. This whole time, Muttin hadn't left my side and hadn't stopped whining. Now normally, I am Miss Facinated by Every Single Move My Dogs Make, since they are so adorable, and would have noticed out of the norm behavior, but did I mention my 28 hour nap? I realized Muttin knew all about that owl, from the first whooosh to the 3rd telephone pole.

I started walking again, cause I didn't want that owl to mistake me for a tree, rather than the Protecter of My Dogs, and I figured walking was the best way to show the owl that I wasn't a tree, because being a tree would make it okay to swoop down and grab a dog by it's wicked talons. Notice how danger sharpened my previously disoriented mind... I knew the word for owl's feet.

As we continued to walk, that owl flew ahead AGAIN to the next telephone pole. It didn't care about my Walking to Prove I Wasn't a Tree impression. It was biding it's time. It was stalking us. 

I tried to remember everything that I'd learned about owls, and realized it was next to nothing. The two things I did remember created a quandry. 1. They were wise, and 2. they had good eyesight. I recalled something about radar senses, but I think that's for bats.  And I wondered if they had a good sense of smell, cause that would sure be nice if they did, cause surely then it would smell the Human Protecting The Dog Meat, therefore, it would be stupid to do any more whoooshing anywhere near me and the dogmeat dogs.  So the quandry I settled on was, if wise, surely it knew better than to do anymore whoooshing and/or if owls have such good eyesight, surely it saw that my dogs were too big for it's wicked talons. Right?

Or maybe, God forbid, in the things that I didn't know about owls, when I was supposedly learning about owls, IF I ever did learn about owls, and had forgotten everything I ever knew about owls, not knowing that someday I'd be stalked by an owl AND my lack of eyeglasses for my own poor eyesight, maybe it was bigger than I thought, even tho it already was humongously, freakishly LARGE.

Jeffrey was scampering around like a carefree dog who didn't know he could be ate up at any moment, so I called him near, picked him up, and marched us home, the length of 5 telephone poles.  Singing loudly, "Ahunting we will go, ahunting we will go, hi ho, the derry-o, a hunting we will go". Probably not the best song under the circumstances, but you try to find an appropriate song when you need a motivational marching in deep snow while being stalked by a man dog killer in the middle of the nite type of song.  While disoriented by MS and a 28 hour nap. 

Normally, it's Muttin I have to pick up, since she is the rebel and will take off running, but she was still glued to my heels. In fact, she was so glued, she kept tripping me, her own version of kamakazi games she normally plays on her brother, throwing herself cutely under his feet.  Which made for 2 falls into the 8 inch crusty snow with Not a Care in the World Jeffrey in my arms.  Who would scamper off between falls, putting himself in unknown to him, danger.  Dumb dog. 

We got all home safe and sound, where I finally realized that my nap had been from 5:30pm to 10pm of the same day, it wasn't the next day after all.  My brain hurt. 

I fed the dogs.  I decided to have oatmeal for dinner, just to play games with my head some more. 

As I ate the oatmeal, I went to the Internet to find where I could report a humongous freakishly large owl who stalks people and their dogs. I'm convinced it's a mutant and needs to be turned in to the proper authorities to be studied. Or at the very least, put in jail a zoo. 

Amazingly enough, there wasn't much to find about Idaho owls. There is a guy doing research on voles, lichen populations, and voles use of lichen. This makes perfect sense, how owl research turned into vole's eating habits, as one would think voles are a owl's natural diet, rather than dogs. So to know about voles eating lichen seems vitally important. Lichen being the mossy green stuff on trees and rocks. I think.  As always, with the Internet, lack of knowledge on one subject just leads to lack of knowledge about another and I wasn't about to look up lichen. I was determined to keep my vole in check. (Vole being a kind of mouse.  Not the mouse that does the clicking all over the Internet). Tell me how funny I am.

For the first time since feeding my dogs raw chicken, which is a whole nuther story involving Jeffrey's anal glands, I relished the sound of doggie jaws crunching on raw chicken bones. Normally, I cringe. And have bad dreams about bone splinters rupturing their little tummies. But tonite, I said "Take THAT, you damn chicken, who's got to be related to damn owls!"

And to think, not too long ago, I've had communion with wolves and ravens, as totems. At another time, I would have seen this owl as a sign of some sort, a message to my life. Ha! From here on out, let it be known that owls are my enemy, and I shall speak to no owls. Or listen. Ever. I'll use my own damn wisdom thankyouverymuch.

Maybe researching owls who eat voles who eat lichen will lead to a cure for MS. What other reason can there be for actual dollars being spent on such a study???

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Pressing my luck

Today I got my official notice that I'm volunteering for 4 hours at the 3 -4 day Blogher conference in San Francisco.  I didn't realize how expensive it was to attend - but I get a special "get in free" code.  I'm SOO excited.  SanFranMan and I are trying to find a laptop for me.  I think I'll go sit on the curb with my hat out for donations. 

The last two days were wrapped in pain, and I'm beginning to realize that this could get bad.  As improved as my general physical outward body - ... , .  Hmmm.  I don't know what I'm trying to say.  The pain may be a really large factor as I get older.  It never lets go.  Imagine being badly sunburned, hitting your funny bone, and thawing your hands when they've been too cold all at the same time.  Welcome to my feet.  And hands.  Being too warm or stressed or sleepless or over-worked makes it worse, with an added wooden numbness that moves up my legs and body.  Being too warm might involve taking a shower, my period starting, or having a sheet over me.  Being stressed might involve my period starting, and wondering what the hell, because I'm tired of it disappearing for months at a time and coming back for the weekend I'm meeting SanFranMan in Reno.  Or trying to figure out what to wear to bed, and just what is it going to take not to get to warm while sleeping in order not to wake up in pain from being too warm.  Being over-worked might be from vacumming 3 small rooms.  Cause that heats me up.  And weakens me for a short time. 

I'm not complaining - it is soooo much better than it used to be.  But it's disconcerting to be so much better, and then to be reminded that I really do have MS just by doing the simplest things.  About the only thing I do that MS doesn't affect is the walking.  During the walk, I am just fine.  After the walk, I'm weak and stumbly for a short while.  Again, recovery time is MUCH better than it used to be.  So please, MSgod ... I'm not complaining.  I'm explaining to the nice folks in the Internet is all I'm saying. 

I'm getting out of this post cause now I'm nervous. 

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I'm fadinnnnngg

I'm in the process of copying files for the someday I will be getting a new computer or laptop, and somehow I managed to delete my email's address book.  Actually, there's no "somehow" about it.  I'm getting really stiff in my muscles again, and spastic behaviour of my mouse clicking finger is out of control. 

So if I know you and we've emailed, please email again, so that I can have your email address again.  Hurry!  I feel naked and vulnerable without it!

Did I tell you I washed my cell phone in the washer the other day? 

Yup. 

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Bloggy Gift

Did you notice the little graphic to the right with "Love, Laugh, Live" on it?  Friday made the for me.    It's been there a few days, cause I was trying to fix the little red heart - it's supposed to move, but it looks like the sidebar won't allow dancing hearts.   Thanks Friday!  You're more talented than I am. 

I'm so mad at Blogger right now that I can't see straight.  I'm in the process of moving Jacob's Poems to TypePad.  Time consuming. 

That is all.  Go read Friday - especially the hurricane Katrina ones.  Good read. 

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Update:  I went to look for the Katrina posts and it looks like Friday isn't doing categories.  If I'm wrong about that, pipe up Friday, and let us know. 

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Totally different from each other

Aren't I so lucky?  I have one cat who lives for bringing me his hunting jobs.  I think the landlady hired him behind my back to keep the building free of live mice.  Why couldn't I luck out and not get a cat who felt the need to bring me his trophies, as if I'm supposed to mount them and hang them up on the wall?  How do I know there are cats who don't feel as if they have to bring in dead mice and throw them 7 feet up in the air, and bat them around until it goes too far out of his reach  under the couch? 

Because this is what Barf was doing the whole time Hiney was training a dead mouse to perform gymnastic type tricks in the air.  And yes, he did know there was a dead mouse in the house.  The Mouse Capades lasted well over a couple of hours by the time I decided I had had enough. 

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Written on Tuesday, posted on Wednesday

(Muttin Looks How I Feel)

Dear Blog People,

There's something wrong with me.  Seriously.  Besides the MS.  Or maybe because of the MS.  But when I say that, it makes me feel like I'm blaming/not taking responsibility for what is wrong with me. 

You would think that being on Disability as I am, yet still mostly healthy physically as in able to do the basics of walking, light housework, still able to drive - that I would get things done. 

This blog hangs over me blanketed in guilt.  I'm not writing.  Why not?  I used to take pictures every day and post them.  What stopped me?  Let's look into it, shall we?

1.  Pain

2.  My computer sucks.  I need a laptop desperately - I'll be the only blogger at the Blogher conference without a laptop.  The shame. 

3.  People I know are reading this and I'm inhibited from being my usual rude and raunchy self.  Totally my perception, not their's.

4.  The TV sucks me into it's drama.  And I do love reality TV - so there's lots of drama.

5.  The other computer stuff sucks me in.  For instance, I turned off the TV so I could write this post and think.  The silence suffocated me, so I turned on the media player inside the computer, where I've downloaded  2,638 songs.  I would like them to be sorted properly, with all of them having the names, name of song, genre, etc. all nice and pretty.  It's not done, so I almost started doing that instead.  It's like I can't enjoy the music until my play lists are perfect. 

Coolbeans!  I just discovered that I can play the player in "skin mode", and that little visualization thingy will get smaller, and stay on top, so I can see it as I'm typing right now.  Awesome.  Cause for some reason, I need to know who's playing before I can hear it right.  uh huh.  Right.  Whatever.  You'd think I'd recognize voices, since I'm the one who downloaded it.  I do for the most part.  Don't call me anal, or else we'll get off-track and this'll be a whole nother post that I won't start anytime soon. 

6.  My son.  I have wanted/needed to write about him for months now.  He says it's alright that I do, but it's so convoluted - that I'm just stuck when it comes to expressing what I'm thinking and feeling.  He's not a regular reader, but I wouldn't post anything until he read it, and gave me permission to post it - that's just how it is, even tho he said it was okay if I put it on here already.

So ... there's 6 reasons for not blogging more.  Or are they excuses? 

And why the HELL is my father coming into my head?????????????????????

Whenever I think of my father, I am reminded of how he told my sister he didn't believe that I got caught in a hailstorm and my wonderful car got pummeled.  He said that no-one could have as much bad luck as I did.  This was after also losing my house.  When I was trying to save my house, I sent out an email to people I knew, asking for whatever help they could give.  I didn't need much, but it was enormous to me, since I was down to working 3 hours a day at that point.  The one person who would have been able to help the most was right under my father's name in the address book.  Guess who's name I mistakenly clicked on?  Yea.  Smooth move, ex-lax.  I wouldn't ask him for money if my life depended on it, since I haven't spoken to him in many years, I don't even remember.  Sometimes my darling sister would ask him on my behalf and then tell me after-wards and then I would killed her.  Twice.  But she keeps popping back up.  He sends her money on Christmas and birthdays, and he had never done that for me.  Not until the year I was dx'd with MS - which she told him about too.  So that year he sent money for Christmas and me and my sister decided to spend it on ourselves, rather than pay bills, or presents for others.  Having not spoken to him in years, but feeling entitled to the money, because as far as I'm concerned, he owes me big-time for the years I spent in counseling because of what he did - molesting me as a teenager - I didn't thank him.  I guess, according to my sister, via him ... I'm a bad girl for not thanking him, so I haven't gotten any more money.  Sigh... so heartbroken. 

But it does drive me wild that he doesn't believe me about the car and The Hailstorm.  Should I type his name in here and/or my name ... should he happen to Google the daughter he hasn't spoken to for ? how many years?  Obviously, this is still an issue for me.  He denies what he did, so he is the liar.  And if you drink to the point of not remembering, chances are pretty good that when told of your behavior ...  they're telling the truth.  Just say'n.

I could of course send it to him myself - directly - the way I'm used to doing things.  (Should I tell you about how I confronted someone yesterday, who lives here, who has staph infection, and keeps telling everyone she's not contagious?)    But always, something stops me, and it has nothing to do with the nauseous feeling I get, and the choking in my throat.  Or maybe it does ... that choking feeling has a lot of power over me, as it cuts off breathing...  which is somewhat important.

Breasts are for feeding babies, and as playthings ... they are not a fashion accessory.  I LOVE that. 

ohmyhell.  Talk about Freud. 

I just heard the breast statement on Dr. Phil, right this very minute.   I should clarify something, considering my father is in this post.  The synchronicity amazes me.  Talk about my father, and somebody brings up breasts. 

Breasts are for feeding babies, and as playthings (with appropriate partners) ... they are not a fashion accessory. 

I have NO idea how this post got so derailed. 

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Bringing them home

1am - went to bed.  Which was early for me.

8am - woke up.   In awe.  Slept for SEVEN whole hours.  Without waking up in the middle several times.  Let the dogs out. 

8:05 - laid back down.  Still in awe. 

9:30 - woke back up!  Another hour or so of sleep! 

Watched cats who were suspiciously acting like there was a live mouse in the house.  Would rather not deal with it.

9:35 - went back to sleep.

10:00 - woke up, jumped out of bed and wrote this memorable post. 

I'm so fascinating.  Yes? 

(Rolling of eyes commences)

There is a mouse in the house.  Damn cats. 

Have much to do today as it's the day the Magic Money happens.  Am gonna buy some rain gutters. 

My books have been packed away in Wheelie's basement for a year now, waiting to move.  Now that I've resigned myself to staying here until San Francisco calls, I'm going to bring my books back home.  You know how they say if you haven't used or worn something for over a year - that you should get rid of it cause you didn't miss it?  Well, half my household has been packed away for a year or more.  It's time for a garage sale.  Seriously.  I have too many clothes, kitchen stuff (for someone who doesn't cook?), and knick knacky decorative stuff. 

But I HAVE missed the books.  Which irritates me somewhat, as I never re-read the books I buy.  I can count on one hand the number of books I've re-read.  Even so, I MISS having the books around.  It's not home without books - it feels like I'm in transition without my books around me. 

So.  Am gonna line the walls a foot or so under the ceilings with rain gutter, and use the books more as a decorative aspect of my home.  I'll have 2 and 3 foot sections here and there, and one 12 foot section in one place, and etc. 

Maybe.  Now my precisely, decisive brain is doubting itself.  Will it be too cheap looking?  Hmmm.

Yes.  There has been visual confirmation - there's a mouse in the house. 

*

Dilemma

Even tho I said I was going to stay here in Rigby and not move into town, I kept myself on the list.  There's an apartment open now, and I went to look at it, and had to make up my mind today.

Pros:

It's MUCH friendlier atmosphere.  Has a much nicer lounge area.  More laundry facilities.  A front door and back door.  No long hallways.  A little porch and tiny garden plot.  The apartment is smaller, but I can live with that.  Am allowed to have bird feeders, and potted outdoor plants and squirrel feeders, etc.  (Not allowed here)  And most importantly, it's 3 blocks away from the river front "Greenbelt", where I can walk year round, and it's really a nice walking path, scenery, etc. 

Cons: 

Will not accept four pets.  Cannot keep cats.  Those damn cats. 

Hmmm.  I bet I could get someone to adopt my kitties here in the building.  I could.  If I really, really wanted to move ... I could.  Yes, I could.

Well. 

Evidently I couldn't.  I told her no, but to re-list me, which will put me back at the bottom of the list.  This could all be moot if San Francisco would just call me!  I'd give up my cats for San Francisco, but not Idaho Falls.  So.  I am staying here.  But you know what was sooooo freaking hard about making the decision?  Am I gonna get struck dead, dumb or deaf for ignoring an omen? 

The apartment number was #24.

Those of you who are my regular readers need to tell me (and the rest of the Internet) why the #24 is important. 

*

Monday Mutterings

This little word association game from "Mutterings", found via Friday. 

I say .... you think? 

1. Stuff ::  Muttin/Jeff's toy that I just stuffed with peanut butter - they loves them some peanut butter. 
2. Gills ::   Fish
3. Distance ::   SonOne too far away, as is Ben, SanFranMan, Linda, Cindy and Bert.
4. Panties ::   I'll fold my own pantie laundry, thankyouverymuch.
5. Checkered ::   Flag.  Duh.  And the only reason why I'm playing this little game right now, cause I wanted to be able to bring Nascar into it.
6. Fill in ::   for someone at work
7. Taunting ::   What I hear going on in my head, as someone telling me "My blog is better than your blog, my blog is better than yours". 
8. Diner ::   Boring here in Rigby.
9. Pizza ::   Yummy here in Rigby.  They sell little round pocket pizzas, and they call them 'Bambinos'.
10. Best friend ::  Linda, Cindy, Wheelie.

In other news, I got about 2 hours of sleep last nite.  Mostly cause I was worried about Barf's where-abouts.  Hiney came in at an appropriate hour, around 2am, charging in like a bull, which made me think he maybe had a dead mouse with him.  This involves an internal battle within me - do I care enough to put my feet on floor in order to search for a possible mouse in the house?  I heard him eating, so I assumed there was no mouse.  If he had a mouse, he'd be tossing it up in the air and thumping himself all over it and the furniture and floor.  After eating, he walked all over me and the dogs, getting his pets of affection from me, and purring prettily.  Then he went to his bed in the sky above the closet to sleep.  Like a proper cat should.  Tom-catting around the neighborhood till all hours, but not ALL of the hours.  Good cat.

Which reminds me, Gosling wanted to see my "walk-in closet". 

It has worked really well for me, as cheesy cheap as it is. 

Back to last nite. 

Every nite, same routine, only it's usually earlier.  Then I waited and waited for Barf to come in, and the wind was blowing so I was irritated by the sound of their plastic window blowing in the wind.  I guess a picture of my high-tech window would be helpful ...

See the bubble-wrap plastic?  There's a couple slits about a foot high, so the cats can go in and out as they please.  And they please the hell out of it.  Last nite it made noise.  I dozed on and off, waiting for Barf to come in so I could close the window.  At about 4am, I happened to look down at the foot of the bed, and there he was, sitting royally on his haunches, staring at me.  Damn cat.  So I closed the window and slept till 5:45am.

This not sleeping business if for the birds.  And the cats. 

I'm on the look-out for a real cat door window.  Glass ones are over $200 bucks. 

I made soup today.  This is worth mentioning why?  Cause I don't cook anymore, nor have I ever made a soup just from stuff I had in the fridge.  Someone gave me 1/4 of a cabbage, which evidently is inspiring to me.  So I threw it in a pot, with some potatoes, stewed tomatoes, Lipton soup mix, and mushrooms.  I don't have any carrots, but that would have been good too.  Smells DELISH. 

Today was supposed to be my 3 mile walk, but I'm trading days around due to the couple of days I messed up cause of pain.  I did do 20 minutes of pilates with the 5lb weighted ball.